Us Against the World
by thephoenixandtheflame
Summary: When she was 12 years old, at her third Malfoy soiree, Astoria Greengrass had slipped into an upstairs drawing room, caught Draco Malfoy's eye, and realized, very quickly, that she was in grave danger of falling in love with him. "Through chaos as it swirls, it's us against the world." - Us Against the World, Coldplay
1. Chapter 1

**Malfoy Manor**

It was a gloomy, cloudy evening, a gentle rain falling over the bleak walls of a stately home. A single white peacock strode out from behind a well-manicured bush. In the opaque dark, the bird looked ghostly, flitting across the lawn like smoke. There was a rustle across the curve of the grass, a sudden movement. The bird flinched, airborne for a sudden moment before a green jet of light hit it squarely in the chest and it fell backwards to the ground with a soft thump.

"Fucking bird," a voice issued from the hedgerows, gravely and low. "Lucius always was a pretentious bastard."

As the figure drew closer to the house, a swell of violins could be heard, raucous laughter echoing amidst the wet grounds. Lucius Malfoy had become famous for these parties, the liquor loose, pureblood royalty mingling and discussing their offspring, their loyalties – their close, dark worlds. As the Dark Lord grew stronger, the parties were less refined, more chaotic. Nerves and emotions ran high, the pitch reaching dangerous levels, the tinkle of breaking glass mingling with the smell of firewhiskey and pipe smoke.

In a room far above the figure, draped in scarlet tapestries, 14-year-old Draco Malfoy was sprawled in a chaise lounge, a sifter of mead balanced in his thin fingers. A fire roared in an ornate fireplace, illuminating the faces of Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, Greogory Goyle, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass. The latter looked a little uncomfortable, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass as she watched Malfoy take another long swallow of amber liquid.

The Slytherins were quiet, for the moment, listening to the fire crackle and to the din that emanated from the floors below. It became less novel at each party, watching their parents drunkenly mingling downstairs, and most of them had taken to hiding out until the requisite floo home in the early hours of the morning.

There was a timid knock at the door.

"Who the fuck is that?" Draco sat up and set down his glass. They'd been helping themselves to the Malfoy liquor cabinet, and although this wasn't expressly prohibited, he couldn't see his mother being too thrilled with the exorbitant amount of mead and wine that was now missing.

Daphne got up and quickly pulled the door open. A small, dark haired girl stood outside, trying to peek into the room.

"Mum said I could come up here with you lot," she said, quietly, concentrating on Daphne's face, her own cheeks reddening under the gaze from the older witches and wizards.

Daphne turned towards Malfoy. "It's my sister – can she stay up here with us?"

"Hardly," Pansy sneered, "She's a fucking second year, Daph. She can go play with the infants."

Draco's lip lifted, taking in the girl outside. His cold grey gaze swept her figure, an appraising gleam in his eye. "What does she want?"

"It's just – a bit – " the girl stammered, "Wild downstairs. Mum's drunk." She looked pleadingly at Daphne. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. Mrs. Greengrass was known in their circle as a bit of a lush. She had once been very beautiful, but her looks had faded as her nerves had gotten worse, and now it was only her immaculate pedigree and her handsome husband that kept her in the Malfoy's inner circle.

"She can stay," Draco looked smug as Daphne let her through the door. "What's your name?"

"Astoria," the girl said, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met.

**10 years later **

The Auror department was nearly empty, a few levitating candles casting long shadows across the desks. Two people sat in one corner, each hunched over their desks, stacks of parchment in front of them.

"Alright – so, Vance, who's the newest trainee?" Harry Potter directed his question at the older, dark haired witch who was shuffling paper at the desk adjacent to his.

"New trainee's name is.." she thumbed through a few sheaf's of parchment until she found what she was looking for and pulled it out. "Astoria Greengrass. She was a Slytherin at Hogwarts, pureblood of course – this is interesting."

"Slytherin?" Harry asked, sitting up, "How old is she? I don't think I remember the name."

"Two years younger than you," Vance replied, running a finger down the parchment. "Her mum's dead from an undisclosed illness and it looks like her parents used to be chummy with the Malfoy's – although they have no known Death Eater association and no involvement in the War. She's got a sister who's your age and her Dad's an investor in private property."

"Huh," Harry frowned, "What do her NEWTS look like?"

"O in DADA, E's and O's in everything else. She's got quite the recommendations too. Clean record. Also flew as a chaser for Slytherin."

"Short? Dark Haired?"

Vance pulled out the picture attached to the file. The girl was very pretty, with bright blue eyes and long dark hair. Harry took the photo and examined it. The girl's expression did not change, but she surveyed him thoughtfully, her gaze shrewd. He remembered her – a spunky, talented flyer who had a knack for intercepting passes. He didn't remember anything unpleasant about her, although he did recall that her older sister had the rather unfortunate luck of being mates with Pansy Parkinson.

"Keep an eye on her, alright?"

**Diagon Alley**

Rain was falling again, obscuring the windows of the Leaky Cauldron from outsiders with millions of trails of glittery water. The warmth inside was almost stifling, most of its patrons sipping cold butterbeers, ruminating about the weather.

A dark-haired girl sat in the corner, dressed in muggle clothes. She was tanned and freckly, a sifter of amber liquid in front of her, glancing expectantly out the window. She stood after a moment as the door opened, and a figure swept in with a wave of rainwater.

"Nice of you to agree to meet me," Astoria Greengrass eyed her perfectly coiffed sister with something close to distaste. Daphne Greengrass was dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, her dark hair scraped back into a sleek bun. The only noticeable difference in their looks was that Daphne was paler and brown eyed, although Astoria thought she looked thinner than usual. Paired with her dark hair, she looked almost ghostly.

"Yes, well," Daphne sat down, glancing at Astoria's drink. "Isn't it a bit early for liquor, Astoria?"

Astoria ignored this, as she often did with Daphne. "How's Dad?"

"He's fine," Daphne said, gingerly placing her handbag on her lap.

"Has he read my letters?"

"What do you think?" Daphne glared at her. "You're not exactly his favorite daughter at the moment."

"So, what does that make you?" said Astoria, meeting her sister's eye with what she hoped was cool indifference.

Daphne shifted in her seat, leaning in until her face was inches away. "We're the only family you've got, Astoria, so you may as well just apologize and give up that stupid job and come home, for Salazar's sake. You'll ruin yourself, running around with this – " she shivered, glancing around. "With this lot," she finished in a carrying whisper.

"Apologize? For not being a muggle hating bigot?" Astoria laughed coldly, "Please, Daphne. Even you aren't that thick. And it's not just a 'job', I'm an Auror. Some people would think that was an admirable vocation."

Daphne sat back, the expression on her face one of open disgust. It made her ugly, Astoria thought. She didn't used to be ugly. Beliefs could do that to a person.

"I don't even know you anymore," Daphne said, quietly, "I don't know the person you've become. You used to be such a good sister, you used to-"

"I'm the same person, Daph," Astoria said, "I just don't believe the things that you and Dad believe, but – " she took a deep breath, "it doesn't make me love you any less, alright? I miss you. I miss both of you. Please, Daph."

For a moment, she thought that Daphne might reach forward. Maybe grab her hand, or her arm, maybe tell her how sorry she was for the last few years of hostility. Perhaps she would console her, tell her that no matter what had happened in the past, during the War, it was going to be okay.

But Daphne's lip curled. "Don't grovel, Astoria. It isn't becoming." She stood, Astoria's heart dropping through her chest like a stone. "Goodbye. I'll tell Dad what you've said."

Without looking back, Daphne Greengrass pushed back her chair, turned around and strode out of the pub, leaving Astoria with her hands shaking and her eyes stinging.

**One Week Later**

Astoria turned the envelope over and over in her hands. It was an invitation to Malfoy Manor, her name spelled in dark green curlicues across silvery parchment. It looked like the invitations Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass had received before the war, expensive and heavy.

Why had she been invited? Although she was pureblood, it was no secret that she didn't profess the same blood purity beliefs that her family did – or as the Malfoys did. She hadn't seen any of them since the trials, and the thought of seeing Draco again, after she'd had to watch him chained to a chair in front of the Wizengamot, turned her stomach.

They'd been friendly at school, mainly because of Quidditch. He was a bit of an arrogant git, but he was smart and sometimes surprisingly funny. Daphne had always thought him handsome, but her prudish older sister had eventually taken a backseat to the pug faced Pansy Parkinson.

By fourth year, Malfoy was rumored to be a Death Eater. Astoria still saw a scared little boy in the common room every day, hunched over in an armchair, contemplating the fire. She'd wondered if he felt as lonely as he looked. She wondered if it would be easy to fall in love with him. Astoria liked broken people – she liked the moments of clarity amidst the rubble. Hadn't that always been her undoing? In life, with her mother, in love, with a few deadbeat boyfriends. Drug addicts and alcoholics alike - and Astoria, of course, a dim light in a dark mind. Maybe she was too selfish. She always needed to be the reason for healing, didn't she? Even if she'd failed with her mother, she didn't have to fail again.

She'd never turned against Malfoy the way the rest of the world did, and even she couldn't figure out why. Astoria thought that she might see something in him that other people didn't –or maybe she knew what it was like to be a Slytherin– to be one thing your whole life, raised into a rigid doctrine of blood purity – only to discover in one, exploding, anticlimactic moment that you really didn't know anything at all.

And perhaps he'd always known, like Astoria, that the world was nothing like the picture their parents had so carefully constructed. Maybe she wanted to know if he'd also discovered the cracks and the blurs in the paint.

Did she go?

Astoria felt her stomach turn over at the thought of Malfoy Manor, alight again. That tiny upstairs room with the liquor cabinet and the massive fireplace. All those beautiful people, with their ugly hearts.

But then she imagined seeing her father, even for a second, and reluctantly pulled her favorite dress robes out of the closet.

**Malfoy Manor, 8 pm**

Draco Malfoy wasn't nearly drunk enough. He could still feel his extremities, which was unfortunate, and he could still process the buzz of conversation and music from the rooms below. It made him feel sick.

He could hardly even stand in their dining room without seeing Hermione Granger screaming on the floor. Without seeing him at the head of the table, a body rotating above. His parent's need to return to normalcy felt irreverent at best, and horrifically indecent at worst. Wave after wave of horrific guilt would overwhelm him, until he was retching into the nearest toilet, pretending to have a drinking problem instead of just – a coping problem.

After the war, Draco had sat in his room for days, refusing food, until he emerged, months afterwards, for the trials. He'd been chained to a chair in the Wizengamot, next to his parents, forced to relive every second of the life he'd chosen on his sixteenth birthday. He'd been pardoned, for the most part, but he felt the crushing remorse the second he left the chambers, the faces of victim's families burned into his retinas. What did it matter, that he was sorry? He'd been a coward, and it felt more cowardly still, those weak apologies, the nauseating realization that his parent's dogmatic beliefs were as substantial as smoke.

So, the answer, of course, was to disappear. There was no place for him in the new world after the Dark Lord, no tolerance in the scores of witches and wizards who'd lost loved ones, homes, a sense of protection. He lived his life on the edges of it all, and it was only a matter of time before he faded away entirely.

Draco got up and rummaged through the bar in the corner, pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey and settling back into his chair. Glass be damned, he thought, taking a long swig. They're lucky I even showed up to this shit show.

He swallowed the burning liquid, reveling in the feeling it gave to his insides. That burning, that numbness. He settled back in his chair, ready to drink himself into peaceful oblivion.

And then, the ornate, tapestried door opened.

Draco stared as a girl slid through the door, shutting it with a quiet click. She turned around and started at the sight of him in the armchair.

"Oh – I'm sorry – I didn't think there was anybody up here –" she stopped abruptly and squinted at him. "Draco?"

Draco frowned. The girl in front of him was extremely pretty, her dark hair piled messily on top of her head. The glittering gold thread woven through her robes was sparkling in the firelight, making her glow. He couldn't quite pinpoint where he'd seen her before, but –

"It's me," she said, gesturing at herself, "Astoria. Astoria Greengrass? I used to play chaser for the Slytherin quidditch team?"

"Ah," Draco said, realization dawning over him. Daphne's little sister – she'd been a good flyer, and she'd been quite fit, if his memory served him correctly. "Yeah. Astoria. What are you doing up here?"

"Same as you, I'm guessing," Astoria sat down in the opposite chintz chair, "Hiding."

"I'm not fucking hiding," Draco drawled, aware of the slur starting to creep into his voice, "I just can't stand those bastards downstairs."

"Yeah, well, me neither."

They sat in silence for a second. Draco sensed that his brooding silence might not be the most pleasant, so with an effort he sat up.

"How's your family?" he asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"No idea," Astoria said, shortly. "We're not exactly on speaking terms at the moment."

"What d'you mean?"

"I believe the term is estranged," Astoria smiled coldly, "It's a long story."

Draco shrugged and leaned back in his chair, gesturing around to the empty room with his firewhiskey bottle. "I've got time."

"Maybe another time," she said, following his gaze around the room. She stood up and walked over to the liquor cabinet, rummaging around and pulling out a bottle of mead. "I need a drink."

Draco watched her yank the cork out of the bottle and pour herself a healthy measure with blurry fascination. He was starting to feel like he was unraveling a bit – all the whiskey was making his head swim. Astoria Greengrass intrigued him, though. Her sister had been a bit odd, very stiff and proper and rule abiding. Astoria was a different matter entirely.

The witch in question took a sip of her mead and looked at him, curiously.

"What?"

Draco shook himself a little. He felt lethargic. "Nothing, sorry. Got a lot on my mind."

Astoria nodded, looking slightly amused. "How's everything – going, then?"

"About as well as you'd think it would be. Family's gone completely mental, and I'm just trying to stay out of their way. I'm trying to stay out of everyone's way, actually."

"Mental?"

Draco smirked. "Why else would they throw a fucking party in the same house that served as – as his headquarters during the War? It's so – never mind." He trailed off into mutinous silence, feeling that familiar rush of anger fill his chest.

"It is a bit eerie," said Astoria, looking around the room, as if imagining the faces that used to gather around the fire.

"A bit eerie is just about the understatement of the century," muttered Draco, his throat tightening. "I don't know why the hell they do it. Hanging on to this shit – it just feels-"

"Wrong?" Astoria offered, taking another delicate sip of her drink.

"Yeah," Draco said, "It does. I hate it here."

"So – why don't you get out?" Astoria asked, watching him intently. Her eyes looked almost navy blue in the firelight, the irises glinting green.

"I did. I've got a flat in London, but I think it goes without saying that my parents are still funding my lifestyle. So – I'm here."

"Get a job, then?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Who'd want to hire me?"

"The Ministry hired me," Astoria said, pulling at the collar of her robes, "As an Auror, no less. Stranger things have happened."

Draco was taken aback. "You're an Auror? You work under St. Potter?"

"Yes, actually," Astoria laughed aloud at the expression on Draco's face. "It's not as bad as you'd think. Although Weasley is a bit of a prick and I'm pretty sure Potter's been having senior Aurors keep an eye on me during raids, in case I defect, or whatever." She shrugged. "Can't trust Slytherins, can you?"

"Weasley always was a prick," grumbled Draco, "But that's…impressive. I just can't believe you'd willingly go work for that lot."

Astoria shook her head. "You sound like my sister." She paused for a moment, still watching him intently. Her gaze was making Draco feel a bit anxious. "I like it. It's dangerous, but it's rewarding. Feels like I'm making up for years of indifference."

Draco shrugged, not altogether sure what to say. She wasn't like the people downstairs, but he'd always known that. The moment of silence stretched and stretched until she spoke.

"Look – I'm going to go, but-" Astoria paused, standing up, looking as though she was struggling with what to say. "If you need someone to talk to – or if you just want to get pissed sometime – owl me, alright? I could use a friend."

Draco stared at her, surprised. A friend? What did she need that for? And him, of all people. He was a fucking walking Reductor curse.

"Yeah, alright," he said, watching her bid him goodbye and step back out of the room. He found himself oddly disappointed that she'd gone, which made him feel lonelier than ever.

He still saw Greg sometimes, although spending any amount of time with him without Vince felt like someone was repeatedly punching him in the gut. Blaise and Theo were less frequent visits, both manic in different ways; Blaise, with women, and Theo with drink. Draco wasn't much better in terms of alcohol, but at least he wasn't vomiting on himself on a weekly basis.

Gods, what did they have left? Did he really have nothing better to do than owl Astoria Greengrass when he got lonely?

Fucking pathetic, Malfoy. Just pathetic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two Weeks Later**

Astoria hadn't really been expecting Malfoy to owl her. Although very much fallen from grace, he was still rich and handsome and two years older than she was. The more she'd pondered on it, the stupider she'd felt, until she wished she could just modify his memory and be done with it.

The days were shorter, rain falling steadily from one day to the next, borne on biting winds that cut through cloaks, scarves and sweaters. The October chill had sunk into a freezing November, reminding Astoria of the cruel Scottish winters.

Blessedly, the Auror department was rotating its witches and wizards through active duty and paperwork, and although Astoria loved active duty – the raids and the expeditions – she did not envy those who had to spend their days tracking suspicious characters through the icy wind.

On one such day – a particularly awful Friday drenched in frozen rain, Astoria was bundled at her desk, finishing a long report for a complicated case that involved curse breakers and foreign money laundering. The office was emptier than usual owing to the approaching weekend, and she was itching to get home, hurriedly scratching out closing notes.

"Oy, Greengrass!"

Astoria poked her head up. Potter was pulling off his gloves at his desk, looking windswept and very cold.

"Yes?" she asked, putting down her quill.

"Why are you still here?" he raised an eyebrow, gesturing around the office.

"Oh! Err – the report on the LaSalle case. It's just been taking me a bit longer than usual."

Potter strode over to her desk, leaning over to look at the roll of parchment Astoria was working on. He traced a finger down the line of facts and figures, nodding in approval.

"You did a hell of a job with this one, Greengrass."

"T-thank you," Astoria didn't mean to stammer, cursing herself for sounding so young and inexperienced. Despite her better judgement, and all the time she'd spent hating him at school, she rather liked Harry Potter. He was surprisingly down to earth, very focused and much more talented than she'd given him credit for being. The approval coursed through her, her cheeks warming with pride.

"You can go, if you like," he said, giving her a curious look, "I'm about to get out of here too. I've got dinner with the in laws. Just put it on my desk on Monday, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," Astoria sat down, rolling up the remaining parchment. "Have a nice weekend!" she called after him, as he strode out of the office. Potter paused before the door and turned back to her.

"Do you want to have dinner with Ginny and I sometime?"

Astoria stared at him, taken aback.

"You don't have to," he smiled reassuringly, "But we'd be happy to have you."

"Of course," Astoria said, trying not to look as startled as she felt. "Sure. That sounds – yeah. Just – er, just let me know when you want to do it?"

"Will do." With that, Potter swept out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

Astoria stared at her report, wondering what alterior motive Potter could have for asking her to dinner. There were quite a few Aurors in the office – their department was large, mainly as a result of the war. So why should she be selected for a solo dinner at the Golden Boy's house? Was he really spying on her?

Astoria hadn't been top of her class at Hogwarts, but she'd never really liked school, anyways. She was smart enough, and she'd passed the Auror training program with flying colors – absorbed in the utter excitement of it all. It tired her out, took her mind off of her then-dire family situation, made her feel purposeful.

Sighing loudly into the silence, she gathered up her cloak, scarf and gloves, bundling herself up before venturing into the atrium. She wished very badly that she could apparate straight into her flat, but stepped into one of the adjacent fireplaces, bracing herself for the chill outside.

Nearly completely frozen, Astoria barreled through the door of her flat about 20 minutes later. She was very damp, despite the impervious charm she'd cast against the rain. Stripping off her wet clothes, she yanked on ratty sweatpants and a sweatshirt, putting her hair up and pulling her slippers away from her kneazle, Freya.

Astoria made herself a very large cup of tea accompanied by a sleeve of chocolate biscuits, and cuddled up on her couch with Freya, still feeling chilled to the bone. She'd been sitting there for a moment, flipping absentmindedly through a book she'd left out on her coffee table, when there was a loud tap at the window. She stood up, squinting at the dark shape struggling against the pane of glass, nearly obscured by the torrential rain.

Opening the latch, a bedraggled bird half fell, half flew into her sitting room, completely drenched and shivering slightly. Astoria shut the window and shooed Freya away, who was hissing loudly at the shape on the floor.

She picked the bird up and set it on its feet. The owl was handsome, but very wet and clearly outraged at being sent out in these conditions. He held out his leg, but turned his head away, shivering slightly.

"Merlin, birdy, you're in a bad way," she whispered, stroking him. There was a furl of parchment tied there, and Astoria pulled it off and got up to go find an owl nut in the kitchen. She came back with the treat, fed it to the very angry looking owl, and quickly scanned the note.

_I'll take you up on that drink, if you don't mind the weather. _

_The Black Cat. 7 pm. _

_DM_

Astoria stared at the parchment in confusion, then reread it twice more. Was Malfoy really asking her to get a drink? And at the Black Cat, no less, which was – if she wasn't mistaken – a muggle pub in Hampstead. She turned over the note, looking for more information, but the back was blank. She was not about to send the owl back out in the storm, so she hoped Malfoy wouldn't take a lack of response as a lack of acceptance.

Besides, he was probably off to get a drink anyways.

An few hours later, she stood in front of her bedroom mirror, studying her reflection. Freckles, bright blue eyes, dark, curly hair. She'd put on a grey sweater and her boots with the lug soles, and the effect was nice, if not very glamorous.

Pulling on her coat, she cast a (in her opinion, much better) impervious charm, locked her flat, and headed off into the storm.

**The Black Cat, 6:55 PM**

Draco hadn't received a reply from Astoria Greengrass, and he hadn't expected to. Her invitation was at best, out of politeness, or at worse, out of sympathy for how depressing his life was. Who cared, really? He was going to get piss drunk whether she showed up or not.

The pub itself was warm and wood paneled, pictures and paintings of various black cats adorning its walls. He holed up at the far end of the bar, near the corner, feeling very sorry for himself.

"Mind if I join you?" The voice rang through his psyche like a particularly jarring bell. Draco had to force himself not to start at the words, turning to look at the owner of the voice.

It was Astoria, dark hair cascading over her damp jacket, her cheeks pink and eyes bright. She looked prettier, even, then the night at the Manor.

"You picked a rough night for a drink," she said, scooting into the seat next to him and looking around, thoughtfully, "But I quite like this pub. I didn't realize you frequented muggle institutions, though."

"Nobody recognizes me here," Draco said, somewhat resentfully, "I'm surprised you came."

Astoria smiled at him. "Well I couldn't send your poor owl back out into this mess, so I figured I should just show up, instead."

"Seems like an awful lot of work to tell me you don't want to get a drink with me."

Astoria laughed, and Draco's heart lept a little in his chest. He liked her laugh immensely. It made him feel a little lighter. She flagged down the bartender and ordered a Bulmer's, pulling off her jacket and settling into the bar stool.

"So," she said, conversationally, "How are you?"

"Fucking brilliant," said Draco, sardonically, gesturing to the dram of whiskey in front of him, "Obviously."

"And why is that?"

Draco glared at her. "Are you taking the piss?"

"No," said Astoria, slowly, "I actually want to know, believe it or not."

"Well," Draco said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice, "Where do I start? My best friend is dead, my parents are mental, and oh – everyone in the wizarding world despises me. Does that about sum it up?"

Astoria snorted.

"Think that's funny, do you?" Draco said, nastily.

"Nooo," Astoria sighed, "It's not funny at all, actually – it's just – " she turned to face him, her boot catching the rung of his barstool. "Nobody's having that great of a time, really. You're not the only person suffering through all this bullshit."

"I can think of several people who aren't 'suffering through it'. Saint Potter and his little friends come out just about the top of the list, although I'm sure YOU don't think so-"

"Why are you being such an arse?" Astoria's eyes narrowed, "I'm on your side, Draco. And before you go passing judgements on people that you think you know, consider how many loved ones they watched die. War doesn't leave winners and losers, that much should be apparent to you at this point." She paused, looking at the floor. "If the only reason you asked me to get a drink was to rage at me about how shitty your life is, then – "

Draco gritted his teeth, guilt flooding him. "That's not – " he turned to look at her, "I'm sorry, alright? I didn't ask you here to be a prick. It's just been a bad day – a bad year, really, but I'm not –" he stopped, abruptly and looked at her, smiling despite himself. "Thank you for coming. I really didn't want to get pissed alone."

"So we're getting pissed, are we?"

They ordered several shots of cheap whiskey, downing them quickly, Astoria grimacing. Her cheeks were red now, and her eyes glittered in the pub light. Draco felt warm and relaxed, better than he had in a while. She was funny, a blunt and expressive storyteller who talked with her hands. She barely sipped her cider, relaying the events of her week, pressing Draco about his life. He wasn't used to this, this unabashed interest in his life with no alterior motives. It was nice.

"What's the real issue with your parents, then?" Astoria tipped her head to the side, jiggling one foot. She was awfully fidgety, thought Draco.

"They want me to get married," Draco said, "Right now. Preferably tomorrow, I think. Into a good pureblood family. You know how we love to lord that over everyone else, and they haven't had much to brag about recently."

"Merlin," Astoria sighed, "And I thought I was the only one."

"Your parents want you to get married, too?"

"Parent," she looked down at her glass with a pained expression. Draco's stomach dropped. Mrs. Greengrass had been a beautiful lush, a drunk with no sense of pureblood propriety. It had been no surprise that she'd died early, leaving her two daughters and a cruel, reclusive father.

"Sorry," he whispered, reaching out a hand to touch her arm.

"S'okay," she said, "I think she's probably happier now. But yes – to answer your question, my father does want me to marry – although, that's only when he's talking to me."

"You never told me why you don' t speak to your family, you know."

"That's because it's quite…. scandalous," she said, looking down at his hand, still on her arm. Draco yanked it away quicker than he should have, causing her to laugh again. There is was, that wonderful sound.

Shit.

"Scandalous?"

Astoria looked away, as if she was considering her next move. "I just – don't believe in blood purity. That's really all it is."

Draco stared at her. He was surprised by this, although not as much as he thought he would be. Most pureblood Slytherin women would never condescend to work for the Auror department at the ministry – or for the ministry at all, especially now. Oddly enough, it didn't disgust or dismay him.

Rather, he shrugged. "Doesn't make a difference to me. I don' t know how much of it I believe anymore, anyways."

Astoria looked much more startled by this statement than he had at her revelation. "Why?"

"Didn't make much of a difference in the end, did it?" Draco turned back to his drink, taking a long swill and savoring the burn. It felt very necessary. He'd never vocalized that thought before, although he knew when he said it that he'd been thinking it for a while. It felt vulnerable and dangerous, but it made him feel – lighter. Just like her voice.

"Yeah," she said. He could feel her gaze burning the side of his face, "That's it."

And they sat there in silence for a few moments, sipping their drinks. The noise in the pub was louder now, more people crowding up to the bar and around the rough hewn wooden tables. A man with a cello was setting up in back, and when he finally sat down to play, Astoria spoke.

"It's Bach," she said, smiling, "His cello suite in G major."

Draco raised an eyebrow. It was beautiful, he thought. "Who's Bach?"

"A muggle composer," Astoria said, "He lived about 200 years ago. He was brilliant."

Draco paused, listening for a moment. "I like it."

"Me too."

Astoria squinted out the window. "The rain's stopped."

"Looks like it."

She tossed a few pounds on to the bar and held out a hand. "You want to get out of here?"

The night was suddenly clear, and much colder. You could almost see traces of stars, the moon shimmering behind a wisp of cloud.

Astoria pulled Draco around the corner and down a long, windy, cobbled street. The lamplight made the pavement glow, the sidewalks nearly completely empty.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked, shivering slightly in the still air. He'd forgone a thicker jacket in favor of an old raincoat and it provided no insulation against the November chill.

"I just wanted some fresh air," Astoria looked up at him and pulled out her wand. She waved it and suddenly Draco felt blessedly warm. "Better?"

"I was fine," Draco said, looking away. She didn't need to take care of him.

"Sure," Astoria tucked away her wand and shoved her hands in her pockets, striding ahead. "This is my favorite road in Hampstead," she pointed ahead, to a whitewashed pub that illuminated the street, "My mum loved it here. Particularly there."

Draco snickered and she whipped around. "Sorry," he said, quickly.

She raised one eyebrow and then grinned, giggling slightly. "Don't apologize. Sometimes you have to laugh to, ah…get through it." Turning around, she skipped ahead into the night, Draco following close behind.

They walked for a little while, Astoria pointing out different coffee shops, tiny vintage book sellers and the occasional pub, until they reached a black door in a ramshackle brick building. A large, imposing muggle man stood outside, watching them shrewdly.

"Astoria," Draco whispered, "What are you-"

"Solaris," Astoria said to the man before she thumbed back to Draco, "He's with me."

The burly man nodded and opened the door. Immediately a wave of sound hit them both, growing louder as they threaded through a small hallway that opened into a massive room. There was a stage at one end, upon which a band played to a large group of people, all jumping and swaying in time.

Draco stared at the spectacle, not even noticing that Astoria had snuck over to the bar and bought 2 Bulmer's, one of which she handed to Draco.

"What the hell are we doing, Astoria?" he said, trying to be heard over the din.

"It's a secret music club," she said, her mouth so close to his ear that he could feel her warm breath on his neck. He shivered without meaning to. "I've belonged for a few years."

"Is it – " he saw a girl to his left pull out a wand and summon a drink from the bar adjacent. He looked at Astoria curiously – "it's a wizarding club?"

"Ooh, yes," said Astoria, "But they don't let very many people in. Mainly because a lot of the bands are muggle and they don't want them catching on."

"How'd you get in?"

Astoria grinned at him. "It's a long story?"

Draco shook his head. "Aren't they all?"

"My uncle was one of the founding members," she said, "He was my mum's brother. He died a few years ago, but she always liked that I came here. It was something that we just we had, you know? She loved music, my mum. My dad hated it, but I suppose that's why I liked it so much."

Draco nodded, watching the band onstage.

"What are they called?" he asked, trying to make out the poster tacked to the left of the guitar player.

"Not sure," Astoria said, squinting, "They sound good though. Probably one of our regulars?"

"How do you get them to play here?"

Astoria giggled. "Slight memory modification, probably. But they've got a few blokes who work here who are in the music industry, and quite a lot of these bands like smaller gigs, I think, especially if they know the crowd will be small. Come on – " she grabbed his hand and pulled him forward, "let's go to the stage!"

"I don't really –" Draco protested. It was dirty and loud in here, and he was having a hard time hearing anything. Very uncivilized, he thought, but part of him wanted nothing more than to go wherever Astoria was going. So he went, threading through the masses of people until they were a few rows back from the band.

"Ohhh this is a good one!" Astoria yelled, throwing her hand up, the other still clutching her cider. And then, the drums began, and Draco looked up.

_Don't look back, I want to break free_

_If you never see them coming_

_You'll never have to hide_

He stole a glance at Astoria, her hair all over the place, dancing and singing and smiling, the most beautiful thing he knew he'd ever seen.

_Take my hand, take my everything_

_If we only got a moment_

_Give it to me now _

"What do you think?" Astoria breathed, laughing breathlessly as the song ended.

"Not bad," Draco said, trying not to smile. She grinned back at him, turning back to look up at the band, who were starting their next song, a slower beat with piano drifting in and out of the background.

_I know we pushed it all to the limit_

_And I know I won't give you up for a minute_

_If it's alright, if it's alright_

He could feel Astoria swaying next to him, so close to him that her hip bumped his. Without really thinking about it, he reached an arm out and put it around her. He felt her stiffen, felt himself doubt it, and then she melted into him, leaning against his side. Her hand found his stomach, hanging on to his shirt and she was almost holding him.

Draco let out a single breath, listening to her sing along.

_Maybe we just got lost in the madness_

_Can we let go and forgive everything and make it alright?_

_And it's alright_

The guitars and the violins soared, the music lifting his heart, lifting some of the heaviness he carried. Draco felt freer, felt happier than he could remember feeling with her arms around him. He was a little drunk – on her, on the music, on the drink, he didn't know.

The song ended, and after a few more songs Astoria pulled away and tugged him towards the back. She dragged him towards the exit and they tumbled out into the chilly air.

"Thank you, Charles," she said to the burly man, turning to Draco and beginning to button up her coat. "What did you think?"

"I-" Draco just looked at her. He couldn't explain the swelling happiness in his chest, couldn't account for the way felt when he looked at her. It was unprecedented. The Draco of five years ago couldn't have felt it. "It was – not bad. Thank you for bringing me. Did you plan on that all along?"

"I'm glad I didn't scare you off," she said, laughing, "No, I didn't think I'd be going tonight but - I thought you might like it. I don't bring a lot of people there, you know."

This simple assertion made Draco feel almost giddy.

"Well," he said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, "It was a bit dirty and loud, but I suppose those muggles were alright."

"Oh please," said Astoria, rolling her eyes, "Don't be such a git."

He grinned. "Expect nothing less, love. What are we doing now?"

"I'm going home," said Astoria, lightly, turning down the street and striding towards the corner.

"But – " Draco called after, "Wait, Astoria, don't – "

At his voice she stopped, turned abruptly and came hurrying back, until she was right in front of Draco, close enough for him to see her freckles. "Owl me. And not during a rainstorm, you prat." And with that, Astoria Greengrass grabbed his arm, stretched on to her tip toes and kissed his cheek so lightly he could have imagined it.

A second later she had hurried away again, and with a quiet pop, she had disappeared into the night.

**Astoria's Flat, 1 hour later**

When she was 12 years old, at her third Malfoy soiree, Astoria Greengrass had slipped into an upstairs drawing room, caught Draco Malfoy's eye, and realized, very quickly, that she was in grave danger of falling in love with him.

It had been the eyes, hadn't it? Impossibly, profoundly grey, with a glint that reminded you of deep water.

Astoria lay, staring at her ceiling, willing the world to stop slanting towards her. She felt a little bit nauseous from the whiskey, but it was more than that – it was the feeling of newness, of pure, unadulterated unknown. Happiness, maybe, or at least a glimmer of it.

Draco had become an enigma. He had changed, she reflected. He used to be an arrogant, selfish prick, a spoiled boy with parroted beliefs; berating, provoking, entitled. Her parents had encouraged a friendship with him, excited by his heritage and fully aware of Lucius's sway at the ministry.

Years later, Daphne would shake her head at Astoria in the common room and whisper "he's in too deep, Astoria." It wasn't so much that they were Death Eaters, really, but that the Malfoys demonstrated how far it was possible to fall.

Astoria couldn't reconcile the boy she'd known at Hogwarts with the man she'd just pulled through the streets of Hampstead. He was oddly curious about the Muggle world, as if he was discovering everything for the first time.

Like a little boy, growing up again.

It helped to find another lonely soul in London, another person who felt as if they didn't quite fit in. Astoria felt it every day; the crushing realization of her estrangement with her family. Who did that? It was so fucking hard to be proud of the person she was when it was so fucking hard to just – be.

That night had been the first she'd felt like someone else had understood the difficulty of the in-between. The drive to be better, to prove generations of ignorance wrong. But how do you do that, without sacrificing your sense of self? How do you reconcile the violence and the heartbreak and the death, the omnipresent absence of the people you loved with the so called 'right thing'?

Turning over, she pulled a pillow towards her and hugged it to her chest. Sleep dragged her into colorful dreams – of guitars and blue skies and a tall, blonde figure, fading in and out.


End file.
